


Former Glories

by Demon Dreams (ScribeAzari)



Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine
Genre: Bertrum isn't ok but he isn't going to admit it, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Sammy mentioned but not really present, Snippet, Storytelling, ties into Lost and Found
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-19
Updated: 2019-04-19
Packaged: 2020-01-16 13:49:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18522823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScribeAzari/pseuds/Demon%20Dreams
Summary: When all you have left are stories, the best way to keep them alive is to tell them.





	Former Glories

Most of the time, his shutters remained fully closed, shutting out the bedraggled remnants of his works. How could he stand to keep looking upon even as slim a selection as was dimly visible from where he was rooted? It had all fallen into such shambles, a far cry even from his lowest expectations, let alone the shining heights he’d once envisioned.

All he had left were the might have beens, the should haves, the could haves. Hindsight useless but to torment him as he stewed bitterly in the cradle-turned-coffin of what had never been meant to be his  _final_ project.

Why hadn’t he gotten out while he could? His pride, perhaps? He knew he was ever a prideful man – but he felt quite justified in that. His works were grand and renowned! Yet there he was, entombed like a fly in amber, all his efforts and vision for naught. Could something about this place have sunk its hooks into him, or had it only been his ambition and desire to outshine that disrespectful brat of a man that had led him to his undoing? Could it even just have been the money, in troubled times?

It was hard to say, now all was said and done. He certainly couldn’t recall precisely how he’d wound up in his current state, though he could recall a good deal more of his past than the  warped unfortunate souls who’d stumbled into his chamber.  Considering his undying desire to take his revenge against Drew, there had been a few… near misses. His eyesight wasn’t what it used to be, after all.

That cracked Sammy fellow, though, had come up with a solution that might well work. He might not be able to  _see_ very well, but he could sure as spanners  _hear._ If his legitimate guests called out a greeting or knocked, and never set off the recording of his rant to the impertinent immature kangaroo of a Drew, he could be sure of never flattening some hapless inky wanderer who just wanted to admire what was left of his former glories.

It might not have been his idea, but it was an arrangement that suited him nicely. Sometimes, his visitors quietly asked him to tell them tales of the world outside they could barely remember. How could he hear their forlorn tones and  _not_ take pity on them?

He had plenty of stories to share with them, many of which involved the works he was most proud of. He regaled them with every minute detail he could remember, spinning his tales as brightly and as fully as he could manage. Every scrap of memory he had about the outside world, he tried to pour into his words, as if doing so could bring it back to life in their faded existence.

He could even pretend that it was for their sakes alone that he painted such vivid verbal pictures of the places he loved so dearly, and the thrills of designing such wonders he surely could never feel freshly again. Of  _course_ he wasn’t getting choked up, his guests were only patting his seating areas to feel something that was real, that was all… he was the one comforting  _them._

They were the ones who’d forgotten the feeling of sunshine on their skin, the scent of home cooking, the taste of anything but bacon soup, the blue of the sky, the sound of their names in someone’s voice… it was better to remember, wasn’t it? What would he be without all the memories that made him who he was? It was a frightening concept, no matter how all that he’d lost gnawed at him. Better endless retellings than to lose the last things he had to hold onto.


End file.
